


interlude in your madness

by elysieal (rosaire)



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Body Worship, Consensual Hatesex, Dirty Talk, Gratuitous Smut, Humiliation, M/M, Possessive Sex, Rimming, takes place before the rebellion, they argue for half of it then fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24888103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosaire/pseuds/elysieal
Summary: “You must still repent and beg to be forgiven,” Helel insists as he regains his balance. “Only then can I save you.”Lucilius’ glare sharpens. “Then I have no desire to be saved.”“Eve—”“I have no desire to be your Eve. I have no desire to live by the will of another.” Lucilius faces the altar, hiding the tears threatening to emerge. Rather than sorrow, anger festers in his heart. It manifests itself in the burning hot tears so often mistaken for melancholy. “If Lucilius is the legacy that ensures I will live by my own volition, then Lucilius is who I will be.”
Relationships: Helel Ben Sahar/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	interlude in your madness

**Author's Note:**

> me: I love lucilius. he's a well-written character whose unjust circumstances push him into despair, and he retaliates in the only way he's ever been taught by the society that mocks and demeans him: violence. it's understandable, then, why he would go to such lengths, even if his actions aren't justifiable. he's an intriguing character whose mindset and experiences I would love to write in depth someday.
> 
> me: also I want to see him get fucked silly.
> 
> I've been wanting to write ciofaa smut since December 2019 and here we finally are
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ecliptica000)

This dream is different than the ones from before. 

Lucilius wakes in a field of crimson feathers sprouting from the earth, and not in a field of burning stars nearing their end, for once. He wakes in his own body, and not in that of another, for once. He raises a hand and stares at thin, delicate fingers, the rising sun casting its glow in slivers between them.

Slowly, he sits up. He takes in his surroundings with a silent, contemplative gaze, unsure as to what secrets this dream will hold, if any.

The feathers sway in the whispering winds of some nameless valley, bright against the grasses bronzed by the sunlight. To and fro, to and fro, they go, dancing to a melody only the winds know to play. Their thin, wiry tendrils brush against his robes, catching on individual threads. When the wind pushes them away, the feathers leave little pieces of themselves on the fabric.

It’s only when he plucks one and inhales its earthy aroma that he realizes these feathers are stalks of amaranth. They’re a versatile plant, used for cooking, dye, and even ornamental purposes. Personally, he’s never had much use for amaranth, but looking at it now, his eyes narrowed in deep thought, he can’t help but wonder why he would dream of _this_ , of all things.

“Amaranth symbolizes immortality.”

At the sound of the voice, one familiar to him yet all the more strange for that very reason, he lets the wind snatch the amaranth from his hand. He looks up to find a tall individual standing only a few feet away, dressed in draping white robes trimmed with ribbons of gold. Hair spun from sunlight itself cascades over bare shoulders down a toned chest, pooling into the amaranth like golden threads falling into blood.

One look is all he needs to know that this entity is not merely a figment of a dream.

Lucilius stares at the stranger, and a face so much like his own offers a smile in return. Impulse voices the question on his tongue before any thought can grasp it.

“Who are _you?_ ”

It comes out as an accusation, stinging and heavy-handed. It’s less of a question and more of a demand for the stranger’s identity to be given to him right then, right there. He’s never liked to be kept waiting.

The stranger only replies with that same smile.

“I said, who are _you?_ ” Lucilius repeats, firmer, a scoff tapering off at the end. He’s never liked to repeat himself, either. He doesn’t care if this is a dream—dreams are the products of one’s subconscious. It belongs to him, and thus it should yield to him; at least, that’s what he always told himself whenever a dream shoved him into a body that wasn’t his and forced him to live through memories that weren’t his own.

This dream hasn’t forced any of that on him. Why is it different now?

The stranger’s smile stays in place, like a lovely painting intended to remain trapped in time forever. It’s infuriating. He can’t stand another moment of this stranger and his impossibly perfect smile, saying nothing, doing nothing as though he were a statue. He won’t even blink. It’s beyond infuriating, it’s—it’s _unnerving._

Gritting his teeth, Lucilius curls his fingers into fists and steps forward indignantly. The amaranth bends and breaks under his frustrated steps. “I ask again—who _are_ you?” he spits.

At last, the stranger’s lips move, and give shape to the long-awaited answer.

“I am whoever you wish me to be.”

But it’s far from satisfactory.

Lucilius frowns, unconvinced, and even more bothered with the stranger’s reply than with his previous silence. “I wish,” he drawls out, “for you to be who you _are._ I am not keen on playing mind games. Therefore I will ask for the final time, and if your answer isn’t to my liking, I refuse to entertain you any longer— _who are you?_ ”

The stranger laughs, a melodious sound, befitting of sirens who lure their victims with coquettish grins and giggles. “Ah, patience has never truly suited you, has it, my dear Eve?” he says, raising a delicate finger to his lips.

Lucilius cocks a brow. “My name is not Eve,” he says firmly.

“Eve is not a name,” the stranger replies, his voice smooth, sweet, sickeningly so. “It is a legacy.” He approaches with slow, measured steps, the amaranth rustling and catching onto the hem of his clothes. He stops only a breath away from Lucilius, his serene eyes capturing him within their gaze.

Lucilius knows he should walk away, leave this stranger to his idiosyncrasies, but his body can’t—won’t—move. He’s trapped in those eyes, those beautiful eyes as blue as the sky and the sea, all elusive fantasies of a freedom that will never be his to keep. Try as he might to look away, he can’t. He won’t.

Once more, his dreams strip him of his free will. Once more, they subject him to their aimless whims.

The stranger raises a hand and traces a finger along the side of Lucilius’ jaw. His skin is soft and warm, its touch alone inviting Lucilius to melt, to yield, but he steels himself enough to recoil. The stranger only smiles, unbothered by Lucilius’ blatant rejection. “Helel ben Sahar,” he says, enunciating every syllable with pride, with power. “That is my name.”

“You speak it as though I should be familiar with it,” Lucilius quips.

Helel’s eyes crease into half-moons, amused. “Once, you had been familiar with it, a long, long time ago when you had still been my Eve. But now… It is as distant to you as everything else from our days of paradise.”

Lucilius scrunches his face. “Again, you speak as though I should know any of this.”

“Shouldn’t you?” Helel questions. “Shouldn’t you know? Rather… Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“As I said, I’ve no love for mind games. Either you cease your cryptic prattle, or you leave me be.”

Helel’s smile doesn’t relent in the slightest, much to Lucilius’ chagrin, and yet he expected no different. He doubts Helel will ever stop smiling; he bodes the aura of a man who will smile even when rage burns behind his eyes. “Have I upset you?” he questions with the innocence of someone who swears themself a saint.

“I tire of senseless words,” Lucilius mutters, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “I tire of having my time wasted by someone who pesters me with even more senseless questions.”

“I see…,” Helel says softly, perhaps with a bit of sympathy. Perhaps. He’s nearly impossible to read, his facade so perfect, so immaculate, not a crack in sight. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I only hoped to grant you the knowledge of everything you had already once known, should you desire to have it again.”

Lucilius scoffs. “Again? I know what I know. I’d never forget anything of high value and importance. You can’t possibly have any knowledge that I would want.”

“But you didn’t choose to forget,” Helel replies calmly, immune to the vitriol dripping from Lucilius’ voice. “All that was once yours to claim… Your legacy as the one true Eve… It was taken from you.”

“Taken from me?”

“As punishment for a most egregious sin.”

Lucilius furrows his brows, eyes narrowed in skepticism. “Elaborate.”

“It would be best if you accompanied me. I will tell you, and show you, all that you deserve to know,” Helel says, his smile widening slightly. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s within your birthright as Eve.”

Under that penetrating glare, not once lifting from his face, Lucilius shifts in discomfort. “How do I know to trust your intentions? Even though this is just a dream—I will not allow myself to be led astray by some machination of the mind.”

“Would you be comforted if I took on a more familiar form?” Helel asks. “Such as this, perhaps?”

Before Lucilius can question him, Helel grants him an answer in the form of his shifting body. Golden hair pales into white and falls away from just below his jaw, pooling into the amaranth below. His robes spread over his body, transforming into a gold breastplate atop leather armor, a pair of skin-tight gloves and leggings, and a tattered white cloth fanning out from his waist. Six white wings, glorious and grand, unfurl from his back and send several swift breezes tumbling through the field.

Lucilius voices the only name he can think of.

“Lucifer?”

But Lucifer smiles in a way Lucifer never has. This _isn’t_ Lucifer. This is still Helel, in a body that isn’t his own, that shouldn’t be his own, and yet he wears it so proudly as though it were always his to bear.

Lucilius wants to be angry. He wants to be _enraged._ He should denounce this entity for taking on the appearance of his most perfect, beloved creation, for bastarding his image with that insufferable smile. But he isn’t. He can’t be. Despite the swirling rage in his head, his body betrays him and stays idle. Complacent.

Helel extends his hand toward Lucilius. “Come with me,” he says in a voice just as lovely as Lucifer’s, but not quite the same.

Lucilius stares at the palm offered to him. He knows he shouldn’t take it, he knows he should reject him, but this dream is keen on denying his better judgement. There’s nothing else he can do but play along, until he at last wakes into the oppressive reality that is his life. Dreams and reality—why must they both cage him so?

Slowly, he lays his hand over Helel’s, and allows himself to be led away. As they walk across the field, Lucilius stares at the wings dragging through the fragile amaranth. “Why?” he wills himself to question. “Why must you take on the appearance of the primal beast I created?”

Helel glances over his shoulder; that damned smile is still on his face. “This appearance has always been my own, long before you gave your creation the gift of life,” he answers.

Lucilius’ hand tightens around Helel’s, but it’s far from a reassuring grip, much less one seeking comfort. “Impossible.”

“Oh, but it certainly is possible. Still, if it bothers you… How about this?”

Four of the six wings recede into Helel’s back. The two that remain slowly close in on themselves, bones creaking and cracking, feathers shifting and shrinking. It isn’t long until the wings are small and petite, a childish mockery of the six wings that were otherwise perfect in every way.

“You insult the power those wings are meant to embody by reducing them to such trivial forms,” Lucilius grits out. His nails dig into Helel’s skin, but Helel spares a chuckle in place of pain.

“I would never. I understand just as well as you do what those wings entail. I am the one that passed their legacy onto you, after all,” Helel says matter-of-factly, yet his voice retains an airy, almost frivolous quality, as though he were speaking amicably with a companion. He’s impervious to the venom that lines Lucilius’ lips and tongue.

No matter how many times the serpent bites him, Helel turns a blind eye to the poison searing through his veins. Willfully or otherwise.

“I learned _nothing_ from you,” Lucilius hisses through his teeth.

“No,” Helel breathes. “You learned everything.”

They arrive at the eroded steps of an old cathedral weathered down to stone and dust by time and neglect. Yet even in its dilapidated state, something about it is beautiful, ethereal. Its walls are crafted from alabaster, accentuated with liquid gold weaving across the white in coiling tendrils. The windows are shattered, but shards of stained glass remain affixed to the gold framing, painting the broken image of an entity bathed in the glow of gold.

Helel relinquishes his hold and turns to face Lucilius, spreading his arms in presentation of the ruined structure. “Welcome home, my dear Eve.”

“This is not my home, and I am not your Eve.”

“Perhaps not anymore, but in the past, yes,” Helel insists. With soft eyes, he pushes the creaking wooden doors open and invites Lucilius inside. “I understand you don’t believe me, and I can’t fault you for that, but… Please. Allow me to prove to you that my words ring only the truth.”

Lucilius studies him, skepticism written all over his face. Everything about Helel seems harmless to the untrained eye—but that unyielding smile, those deceptive eyes, they all send chills down Lucilius’ spine. This man may not be dangerous, but he’s certainly not all that he makes himself appear to be.

Perhaps it’s the inane curiosity to discover _what_ Helel truly is that drives Lucilius’ instincts to defy his logic and follow this man blindly. Perhaps.

“...Fine,” he huffs out. He doesn’t honor Helel with any other word, or even a glance, as he pushes past him into the cathedral. There are no pews, nor any other furnishing aside from a simple altar with a gold cross mounted atop it. Dead vines blooming wilted roses sprawl across the alabaster flooring, leaving only a single clear path that leads to the altar.

Without waiting for Helel, Lucilius advances down the path seemingly laid out for him, and arrives at a stop in front of the altar steps. The altar itself is a large slab of white and gold marble, a linen embroidered cloth laid over the smooth surface. Bushels of dried herbs and empty, jeweled chalices scatter around the base in silent offering. The gold cross stands vigilantly; at its center, a blue crystal glows softly in its rusted socket.

Lucilius takes in the altar’s design with an unimpressed hum. He’s never cared for the lavish presentations of the devout. “Well?” He glances over his shoulder to find Helel approaching him with slow, quiet steps. “Now that you have me here, I expect you to divulge what you said you would, with none of your abstruse nonsense.”

“Of course, of course.” Helel chuckles, taking the spot beside Lucilius to stand, as though it’s his rightful place to be there. “This place…is one of the few remnants of our perfect paradise. We spent many hours here together, naming and teaching all of the creatures and plants that came our way, before we sent them off into the world. It was a long, meticulous task, but one I enjoyed so long as I spent it with you.” His smile falters a little, a wistful sigh ghosts from his lips.

“...You were always extraordinary,” he continues. Lucilius observes him from the corner of his eye; he says nothing. “Intelligent beyond limits. Every living thing responded naturally to you… They preferred you over me, despite the fact that you never cared for sentiment, much less attachment.” A single, breathless chuckle. “You were far from nurturing. Certainly not loving, either, at least not in the orthodox way one would expect. But I suppose these traits made you all the more endearing.”

Lucilius scoffs. Now, where has he heard _that_ before? “Such bizarre tastes you have. Only a fool would stick his hands into the thorns after already having been pricked once.”

“Yes, but, how could I keep myself away from you?” Helel turns to him and reaches for his hand; Lucilius moves away before their fingers brush together. “You… You are my Eve. Our fates are intertwined—they have been since the beginning.”

Lucilius looks away from Helel’s face, away from that smile and those soft eyes and the sentiment weeping from them. He can’t stomach the affections of a man he scarcely knows—a man as infuriating as this one. “You beg for sympathy through your words, and yet everything you’ve said means nothing to me. You claimed you would tell me the truth, but instead you’ve fed me stories that could very well be lies.”

He looks toward the open doors, toward the amaranth sprawling across the earth like scattered feathers. He could run away, escape, force himself to wake from this senseless dream into cold, solid chains. “If you will not stay true to your word, then neither will I.”

Helel’s hand finds his. It tightens, _painfully_ , around his thin fingers, no different than a shackle. “I will,” he says, breathless. There’s a different quality to his tone in those two little words, eerie and chilling. “I will stay true, my Eve, to my word and to you.”

Lucilius faces him and tries to pry his fingers away, but Helel’s grip only tightens, tethers him in place. “Then I suggest you don’t keep me waiting any longer.” His words belie his uncertainty; would he even have the power to defy and escape Helel should push come to shove?

Helel smiles crudely, his eyes creased. “Anything for you, my Eve.” He ascends the steps, dragging Lucilius along with him; he pays no mind to the way Lucilius stumbles with the sudden motion. He takes Lucilius’ hand and forces it to lay across the linen cloth. “Then, let us begin as all tales do: with the beginning. This… This, my Eve, is where you were born.”

Lucilius stares at where his hand lies. His fingertips curl slightly into the cloth, ruining the pristine fabric with wrinkles.

“But you were not born as ordinary creatures are,” Helel says. Releasing his hand, he slowly skims his fingers along Lucilius’ arm, until they reach his shoulder. They stay there, tracing the lines of his pauldron, dancing to dip onto the line of his collarbone. “You… You were born of my blood and my body.” Soundlessly, he moves to stand behind him, and slides his palm onto Lucilius’ hip. His traveling hand drifts over the right side of Lucilius’ ribs, thumbing over the robes. “Our Master took flesh and bone from me to give life to you. You were made for me to protect and to love.”

He leans in close, too close, his breath ghosting against the shell of Lucilius’ ear. Lucilius shudders, but forces out his question in deference to this man. “Master?”

“The Omnipotent who crafted this world. He sought to replicate my perfection, and so you were born on this very cloth, on this very altar, in this very body of yours.” The hand on Lucilius’ hip slithers across his stomach, until an arm winds around him and locks him in place. He’s caged within Helel’s embrace before he realizes it, but by the whims of this dream, he can’t bring himself to break free from the warmth he’s never felt before. “You became my Eve—the one destined to carry on my legacy from the world before this one.”

Lucilius exhales deeply; he tries not to focus on the sensation of Helel’s breath against his ear, tingles dancing across his skin with every word. “Do you expect me to believe that?” he demands. “If what you say is true, then why do I find myself bending to the overly ambitious will of the Astrals and their petty grudges? Why have I been forsaken to a life of servitude, without the memories of what you preach to me, if it is true that I am a progenitor to life in this world?”

Helel’s smile falls into a frown as he leans into the waves of Lucilius’ hair, unseen, but nonetheless felt. “You committed a grave, unforgivable sin, and as penance, your memories and your legacy were taken from you.”

“By the Omnipotent, I presume.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Lucilius frowns. “...Of course. Gods who bestow gifts are just as apt to snatch them away in the name of retribution. For all their talk of unconditional love, mercy, and forgiveness, such things seldom exist in their self-righteous minds.”

“You must understand. Our Master lamented stripping you of your birthright. It pained him far more than words could ever hope to describe,” Helel speaks behind him, a plea on behalf of the god that would never dare to beg. “He wept for you. He prayed for you. He swore that all of the anguish and despair were meant to save you, to guide you back home to our paradise.”

Hands tightening into fists, Lucilius musters a surge of strength to wrestle himself away from Helel’s suffocating embrace. He whirls around to face him, to see, with his own eyes, the frown that has finally— _finally_ —gotten rid of that false smile. “Spare me the sentiment! Your _piteous_ Master only lends more credence to the notion that all gods are ultimately the same. They force people to endure trial and tribulation in exchange for salvation, when in reality, they only intend to enslave their minds and force them into subservience to satisfy whatever arbitrary whims they entertain.”

He stares Helel in the eye, indifferent to the pitiful sorrow of his gaze. “Gods are no different than tyrants. They bestow free will and thought and impose rigid chains of conformity in the same breath. I will not understand. I will not _sympathize._ ” He sucks in a hiss. “Tell me, Helel ben Sahar. Are my words the unfathomable sin you speak of?”

Helel closes his eyes. “...Yes.”

Letting out a sardonic laugh, Lucilius shakes his head in pure, utter contempt. “As I thought. Given free will, yet punished for it all the same.”

“You sought to forge your own fate with the knowledge you obtained,” Helel continues in a low, dejected tone. “You wished to no longer live by the rules of our Master. You partook in the fruit of the world to liberate the inhibitions placed upon your mind, but he cast you out for your insolence, and allowed despair to take you within its arms.”

“So that I may prostrate myself on my knees and beg for forgiveness,” Lucilius completes, trembling with rage, disillusionment. “He took everything as a means to demonstrate that I am nothing, hopeless, without him. He expected me to find and renew my faith out of desperation… But he was wrong. I will never—ever—long for the love of an entity who only aims to stoke his own egoism.”

“But you will never find joy again,” Helel pleads. “You will never be able to return to our paradise. You will never be allowed at my side.”

“Then so be it,” Lucilius sneers, throwing a glare at Helel. “Why would I want to be with you when you chose to abandon me as well?”

“I did not—”

“You did!” Lucilius hisses. He lunges forward, grabbing Helel by the red ribbon around his shoulders. “You claim I was born of you, meant to be protected and loved by you, but you did no such thing! You allowed me to fall! You did not fight for me!”

“He would’ve punished me as well,” Helel mutters.

“Then why did you not fall with me!?” Lucilius trembles from head to toe, his eyes shaking so furiously he swears he can hear them rattling in his skull. “You turned your back on me. You abandoned me to fend for myself. You took your love from me in the same way he did!”

“No,” Helel breathes, shaking his head. “My love for you remains. I would never dare to part with it.”

Lucilius shoves Helel away, sending him stumbling down the steps. “You lie. If your love is still true, you wouldn’t be here in this dream. You would be out there, with me, but you are _not._ ”

“You must still repent and beg to be forgiven,” Helel insists as he regains his balance. “Only then can I save you.”

Lucilius’ glare sharpens. “Then I have no desire to be saved.”

“Eve—”

“I have no desire to be your Eve. I have no desire to live by the will of another.” Lucilius faces the altar, hiding the tears threatening to emerge. Rather than sorrow, anger festers in his heart. It manifests itself in the burning hot tears so often mistaken for melancholy. “If Lucilius is the legacy that ensures I will live by my own volition, then Lucilius is who I will be.”

Silence. His heartbeat measures the seconds that tick by, substituting for the unspoken. He can feel Helel looking at him, pleading at him with those eyes, but he doesn’t dare to look back. Not when he’s finally snapped the strings puppeteering his body, not when he’s finally spoken his own innate truths.

“...Lucilius.”

His name—his true name—comes as a surprise when whispered into the silent air by Helel. Still, he doesn’t look back.

“I will never abandon the hope that you will someday return to me.” Footsteps approach. Lucilius stays rooted to the spot. “I will pray for you… I will pray day and night for you to find peace within your suffering. I will pray that you will still be granted forgiveness and salvation.”

“I’ve no love for prayer. I’ve no love for anything that you speak of.” Lucilius stares at the cross staring back at him. Its lone jewel is an eye, wide and unblinking; it judges and condemns him for every word that spills forth from his lips. “I don’t need forgiveness from you, from your Master, from anyone. _Anyone._ ”

And yet he feels hollow. He’s always felt this way—empty and cold, his soul ceaselessly yearning for something to fill in the void of the missing piece. He had thought Lucifer could be that piece, the one Lucilius needed to make himself whole again, but he had been wrong.

Lucifer is beautiful beyond words, powerful beyond measure. But he’s merely a counterfeit—a vain attempt to replicate the original. It’s no wonder, then, why Lucilius never found warmth in Lucifer’s touch.

“...Please,” Helel speaks up. “Even if you do not seek forgiveness, allow me to comfort you. Even for just a moment.”

Strong arms wrap around him from behind. The warmth he’s longed for floods into him, and he knows then and there that he will always be empty and cold. He would rather nurture the void inside of him than trade his name and his will for the piece stolen from him. He would rather allow his veins to freeze and his heart to still than to pledge unwavering loyalty to the forces that cast him into the endless winter in the first place.

But even so, that doesn’t mean he’ll deny himself the illusion of respite, no matter how fleeting.

His fury not yet abated, he grips tight onto Helel’s arms, digging his nails through his gloves, into his skin. “Why tell me this in a dream?”

“You will not remember when you wake,” Helel answers in a breathy voice, wracked with emotion. Whether it’s guilt or regret, Lucilius doesn’t know nor care. All he wants from this man is the warmth he denied him for years.

Lucilius scoffs. “Then why appear to me at all?”

“I cannot keep myself from you,” Helel mutters into the nape of Lucilius’ neck, eliciting a small shudder. “This...is not the first time I’ve come to you in a dream.”

“Is that so?”

“It is unnatural for us to be apart. We are of the same body, the same blood.” Helel’s lips brush against the skin below his ear. “You belong to me, as I belong to you.”

Lucilius flutters his eyes closed, his breath hitching halfway. “I belong to no one but myself.”

“But only I know the secrets of your body,” Helel says, barely above a whisper. He brushes his lips against his nape again, deliberately so. “Only I can fill in the void that has taken root within you.”

Lucilius stares at the cross. His body burns wherever Helel’s lips touch, invoking a deep, primitive flame he’s never felt before. Even so, he knows what it is—desire. The urge to take what the subconscious demands. The need to satiate the instincts buried under logic and reason. The impulse to gratify oneself with acts that bring pain or pleasure, so often hand-in-hand.

Lucilius hates Helel ben Sahar for abandoning him—but he craves his touch, his warmth, his foolish devotion mistaken for love.

He loosens his grip and leans into the warmth surrounding him. He relinquishes his reservations, gives himself to chaos of his own senseless desires. “Prove it to me, Helel ben Sahar.”

Helel’s breath hitches, then deepens. “You know not what you provoke.”

“I think I do.”

“You _don’t_.” Seizing Lucilius by the waist, Helel forces him around and bores deep into his eyes. “ _Years._ I have gone years without you—your voice no matter how scathing, your touch no matter how distant. Dream after dream, I’ve resisted leaving my mark on you, claiming you for myself for all to see and know you are _mine._ ”

Lucilius shifts uncomfortably under the stinging weight of Helel’s gaze and voice. He steadies himself with his palms against Helel’s shoulders, searching for the slightest indication of some jest, some form of levity, in the other’s face. But he finds none. This sudden shift in mood—it’s far more genuine than that wretched smile. “You would have me yield to you?”

“I would.”

Lucilius furrows his brows, presses his lips into a firm line. “Then you are just as tyrannical as the Omnipotent.”

A small, eerie smile crawls onto Helel’s face. “So be it.” Lifting Lucilius with ease, he settles him onto the altar, pushes him up against the cross. He wrangles both of Lucilius’ thin wrists with one hand and lifts them high above Lucilius’ head.

Lucilius gawks at him. “What do you think you’re d—”

Lips crash into his and silence him. Helel nips at Lucilius’ lower lip, tugging it into his mouth as he yanks the red ribbon from his robes. He sucks on the sensitive flesh until it bruises, all while his hands deftly bind the ribbon around Lucilius’ wrists, hitching him to the cross. He forces his tongue into Lucilius’ mouth, drowns out any and all words of protest. Even when Lucilius bites down on it, Helel merely savors the bitter tang of his own blood.

The kiss is rough, messy, surely unbecoming of Helel’s supposed grace. Lucilius’ fingers grapple at air, unable to breathe, unable to stave off the electricity jolting down his spine. He’s helpless, bound to Helel’s mercy. And yet no matter how much his brain spews out hatred, his body presses desperately against Helel, seeks him out in every way that it can.

He wants this. As much as he hates to admit it—even to himself—he wants this. Starved of warmth, he’ll snatch it from Helel and offer nothing in return. He’ll take everything that was ever denied from him. But only this once.

Helel’s hands greedily push and pull at his body, ripping away the various ornaments that adorn Lucilius’ robes and discarding them onto the floor with an echoing clatter. His hands dive underneath the several layers of Lucilius’ clothing, and his lips take Lucilius’ mouth over and over again. Their tongues curl against each other, their teeth scrape and bite against skin. They swallow each other’s gasps and stuttering breaths, hungry for nothing else.

Lucilius’ body burns. Helel’s covetous touch slithers under his inner garments, wandering over his stomach to his chest, squeezing and scraping his nails as he goes. Lucilius’ traitorous body arches forward, conveying its desires without words. And Helel can’t deny him. Not like this. Not when they’re both selfish, in this moment, caring not for each other but instead for what the other can give.

At last, Helel pries himself from Lucilius’ reddened lips. He buries his face into Lucilius’ neck and lavishes the skin underneath his jaw with kisses and bites. When he bites into the tender flesh, Lucilius holds back his cry, refusing to give Helel any satisfaction even as Helel bites deeper and sucks harder. Lucilius merely grasps onto the ribbon he hangs from, scrunching his eyes shut to think of anything else but the heat rushing down between his legs.

The wet sounds of Helel sucking bruises onto his neck are loud and obscene. They elicit twitches and shivers, and Lucilius hates the tingling sensation that begins at the base of his skull, shooting down his spine to his pelvis. He hates how he angles his neck to grant Helel more access, he hates how he wraps his legs around Helel’s waist. He hates how he rolls his hips against the scorching heat bearing down on him, but he won’t ever think to stop.

Helel scrapes his teeth across Lucilius’ heavily bruised skin before lifting his head. Their eyes meet for an agonizingly long moment, before Helel suddenly shoves himself away. He stumbles a few steps back as he looks upon Lucilius with no shortage of conflict on his face, his brows furrowed and his lips parted halfway as he searches for something to say, only to settle on silence.

Lucilius stares at him accusingly. Still bound, he can’t do much but rely on his stinging, cold glare to pierce through Helel like an unforgiving blade. “Why the hesitance now? Weren’t you so eager to have me surrender to you?” His voice is just as sharp and brutal, if not more so.

Helel wets his lips; a nervous habit, Lucilius intuits. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I can bring myself to defile you.”

“Defile me?” A contemptuous laugh rings throughout the cathedral. “Don’t you dare impose your insulting notions of chastity and virtue on me.” Raising a leg, Lucilius buries his heel against Helel’s groin, digging into the bulge forming underneath the tight leggings. Helel inhales sharply. “Aren’t you a man of your word, Helel ben Sahar? Or do you intend to disappoint me one last time?”

Lucilius hardly knows what he’s saying. His thoughts are muddled, unable to process his words before they gush forth from his mouth. He’s all impulse and instinct now, rationality thrown aside in favor of satisfying whatever carnal desire his body demands. If he were in his right mind, he’d find all of this beyond humiliating, but right now… Right now he cares only for the heat of Helel’s body against his.

And he knows Helel won’t deny him. How can he, with that self-proclaimed love and devotion of his? All Lucilius needs to do is seed guilt into his heart and watch it bloom into a twisted rose, dangerous but touched by all.

Lucilius rubs his heel against Helel’s groin again, drawing out a repressed groan. “N-not… Not like this,” Helel mutters as he grips onto Lucilius’ leg to keep it from moving.

“Not like what?” Lucilius questions, impatient.

Like before, Helel answers through the transformation of his body; his short, white hair spills into those beautiful flowing locks, and his attire melts into the robes trimmed with gold. Without another word, he descends upon Lucilius again, capturing his lips in a deep, hungry kiss to steal the very air from his lungs. Again and again, he kisses him, muffled sounds vaguely like moans exchanged between them.

His hands burrow underneath Lucilius’ robes and begin to peel away the sinfully tight leggings sticking to his skin. He promptly tosses them aside, leaving Lucilius in only his undergarments, but it isn’t long until Helel strips those off as well. A rush of cold air hits Lucilius’ legs, even more so when Helel gathers his robes and bunches them up above his hips, exposing him from the waist down. Lucilius’ thighs subconsciously move to hide his arousal, heavy and aching against his stomach, but Helel forces himself between his legs to keep them apart.

Lucilius tears away from the kisses and gasps for air, leaning his head back against the cross with heaving breaths. His mind is in a haze, barely cognizant of everything happening right now. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts as much as he can, before angling his head downward to find Helel devouring his vulnerable body with a lecherous gaze and bated breath.

“Don’t stare at me,” Lucilius growls, once again attempting to hide himself, but Helel holds his legs apart with firm, strong hands. A mild sense of shame tints his cheeks red, but Lucilius refuses to give Helel the satisfaction of reacting in anything other than indignation.

He still has his dignity, even with the rising heat threatening to melt it away.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remember,” Helel says under his breath, unable to take his eyes off Lucilius. He slides his hands along Lucilius’ thighs, onto his hips, then onto his stomach where he traces the faint grooves of his skin. Lucilius bites his lip, repressing any noises daring to leak out. “This body… Countless nights I worshipped it with my own. I engraved my reverent love into every inch of it… To ensure you would never forget my touch, my warmth…”

He drags a finger down the shaft of Lucilius’ length. Lucilius can’t stop his leg from suddenly jolting, his body responding far too favorably to the spark of pleasure running up his spine. “I wonder...if it still remembers…?” Helel continues, his voice soft and mystified in the midst of his reverie. His hands skim across Lucilius’ navel until they reach the dip between his legs, underneath his cock; he moves downward as his fingers trace the lines of Lucilius’ inner thighs. “I wonder...if you will still hold onto me as you did before…?”

“S-shut up,” Lucilius hisses out, but his annoyance contradicts the tremble and twitch of his body. “I don’t need your commentary.”

Helel hums, peeking up at Lucilius through half-lidded eyes. “Then I will not venerate you with words, but with my body.”

Lucilius isn’t given the luxury of processing Helel’s words when his thighs are suddenly pushed forward, bending him in half and exposing his hole to greedy eyes. He isn’t even given the luxury of processing _this_ when Helel leans down and drags his tongue across the sensitive skin.

Lucilius sucks in a sharp breath as his body tenses up. “What are y—”

His voice is once more cut off by Helel’s abrasive handling of his body; his tongue dips past the tight, pink ring of skin, no show of hesitance whatsoever. Helel grips tight onto the backs of Lucilius’ thighs, holds his legs obscenely wide on either side of his head as he slips his tongue in deeper, curling it upward. Without the slightest hint of shame, he lavishes Lucilius’ hole with loud, wet noises, swirling his tongue inside of him, dragging it across the hole and tracing the rim with the tip.

Embarrassment brightens the red of Lucilius’ face. He clenches his teeth hard, nearly shattering them, and digs his nails into his palms. Try as he might to kick Helel away, the other man’s grip is too tight, too firm. All he can do is sit there, exposed and vulnerable, his body betraying him every time it twitches under Helel’s crude, profane worship.

Helel draws back just long enough to breathe softly. “You taste just as you did before,” he mutters, his pupils blown wide with hunger. He licks his lips before dipping his tongue inside of Lucilius again, deeper, more forceful this time, accompanied with a finger that presses against something that sends a jolt through Lucilius’ cock.

A moan nearly rips itself free, but Lucilius holds it back by biting his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut as Helel’s finger prods against that little spot, massaging it while his mouth noisily savors Lucilius’ tight hole. Jolt after jolt of electric pleasure shoots up his spine, wringing out violent jerks of his body, and it takes all of his willpower to hold back the mewls and whimpers that would surely heighten his shame.

His cheeks already burn with humiliation. Frustrated tears gather in the corners of his eyes. It feels good—too good—but he would sooner die than admit such an incriminating thing to the likes of Helel.

Helel’s finger curls in deeper along with his tongue, and Lucilius bites his tongue harder, enough to taste the rich metal of iron. A low chuckle rumbles out from the back of Helel’s throat, accompanied with a seemingly mocking smile that Lucilius can barely bring himself to see. “Why do you hold your voice back?” Helel questions as he retracts, leaving a ghost of a kiss against the tip of Lucilius’ cock. “...Though, I suppose it doesn’t matter when your body speaks on your behalf.”

“Shut up,” Lucilius spits.

But Helel merely chuckles, slides a second finger into Lucilius without warning. The two digits press mercilessly against Lucilius’ prostate, and he fails to contain the moan that finally liberates itself from the stubborn cage of his mouth. Helel watches in rapt interest as Lucilius’ hips roll themselves onto his fingers, seeking _more, more, deeper, faster._

Shame and pleasure sear through Lucilius at once, carving his flesh open to set it aflame, lighting his nerves with electricity one bolt away from immolation. He can do nothing but writhe in the flames licking across his body, devouring him down to his core.

A choked sob leaves him when Helel’s fingers do. He lies there, flustered and frustrated, glaring at Helel with teary eyes. But the other man only smiles. He smiles as he takes hold of Lucilius’ hips, and suddenly flips him over onto his knees. Lucilius swears under his breath as he clings onto the ribbon for dear stability.

Still, he manages to drawl out one last retort. “It, it seems—you have no issue with desecrating the altar of my— _supposed_ birth.” Although his voice is nearly breathless, snagging onto words and syllables, his tone remains sharp, cold.

“Why would I? This place was made sacred by our love and the union of our bodies,” Helel says as he trails his touch down Lucilius’ back, to his hole.

“Love? Did I ever even love you?”

“I would like to think that you did.” Helel leans over him, easing two fingers inside; they’re slick this time, covered in what Lucilius presumes to be oil seemingly apparated out of thin air. The oil smooths the fingers’ entry, but the cold liquid elicits a slight shiver. “And that you still do, deep inside.”

Lucilius scoffs. He offers no words in response.

“But I hurt you, didn’t I? I betrayed you. The hatred in your heart...is the pain I left behind, isn’t it?”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

“Even if you won’t admit it, I know it’s true.” Helel brushes his lips against Lucilius’ ear. Lucilius hangs his head, straining within the ribbon’s hold, eager to distance himself from the susurrating voice that floods him with tingling sensations. “You hate me only because you fear loving someone and being loved. You can’t trust that such vulnerability won’t hurt you aga—”

Gritting his teeth, Lucilius pivots his hips back, impaling himself hard enough on Helel’s fingers to wring out a strangled whine from his own throat. Helel’s breath hitches. “S-save me the nonsense and do what you intend to,” Lucilius manages to growl out.

Helel takes a moment to collect himself. Then, “...Very well.”

A third finger slick with oil joins the two. The three carve deep inside of Lucilius, spreading cool wetness over his hot walls. Helel takes his time working him open, prodding and rubbing against spots as elusive as they are sensitive, never removing his gaze from the way Lucilius’ body shudders underneath him. Lucilius, on the other hand, continues to repress his voice, but every now and then Helel’s deft fingers force a whimper free.

“Lucilius…,” Helel coos against the shell of his ear. “Even now, your body responds favorably to me. This place here… There’s no resistance. Could it be you’ve done this with someone else?” His voice deepens to a grave tone. “Tell me: has someone else helped himself to you?”

“T-that’s— _none_ of your concern,” Lucilius hisses.

“You should know that no one will ever make you feel as I do. Your body...was carved from mine. My pleasure is yours, as yours is mine.” He hooks his fingers downward and mercilessly rubs against Lucilius’ prostate. Eyes widening, Lucilius violently trembles from the explosive burst of heat flaring up in his stomach. “I know everything about your body, Lucilius. _Everything._ ”

Lucilius can muster no reply, only another strangled whine, graceless and unbecoming. Even his thoughts have begun to blur into a muddled mess.

Satisfied with the sight and sound of Lucilius unraveling at his mercy, Helel pulls his fingers out and hikes Lucilius’ robes up farther. He nips at his ear, hoists him close until Lucilius can feel his hardened cock press against him; subconsciously, Lucilius rolls his hips, and Helel groans softly at the contact. “...It seems your body continues to be more honest than your words,” Helel croons breathlessly.

Again, Lucilius says nothing, his face contorted in complete mortification of his own behavior. He had intended to take control of the situation from the start, to take pleasure from Helel without offering anything in return, but here he is now, bound to his will. And to think, deep in his cold, hollow heart, he still wants this. He _wants_ this. He wants to feel whole again, to fill in that gaping hole in his chest that froze over with sharp, jagged icicles long before he realized there was something missing.

He hears the rustling of fabric. The tip of Helel’s cock, sticky and hot, nudges against his loosened hole. His breath catches in his throat as it eases itself inside, the intrusion an unwelcome, yet not unfamiliar, discomfort. Little by little, the entire length of his cock pushes inside; little by little, Lucilius loses his sanity just a little more. He tries to hold onto something, anything, but his useless hands can only grasp at air.

“Look at you…,” Helel breathes over him. “You take me in just as wonderfully as always… You’ve wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?”

It’s infuriating, Helel’s apparent inability to keep quiet. Lucilius opens his mouth to lash out a rebuke, but Helel rams his hips forward, and all that escapes Lucilius is a quivering moan. Again and again, Helel thrusts into him, long, hard strokes that have Lucilius’ eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. Again and again, Helel fucks into him fast, relentless, jostling Lucilius back and forth against the altar. Lucilius’ trembling legs threaten to give out from the intensity, but Helel wraps his arms around his chest and holds him up, increasing his speed and strength into a rough, fervent pace bordering on animalistic.

Lucilius throws his head back against Helel’s shoulder and moans, unable to contain his voice what with his insides being so mercilessly ravaged. It shouldn’t feel this good—this man shouldn’t be able to make him feel this impossibly good. And yet Lucilius can’t help but to melt into the pleasure and heat consuming him. They burn him into the ashes of whatever inner turmoil he had left.

That cold, hollow gap inside of him—it’s gone.

His moans echo throughout the empty cathedral, accompanied with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin. Helel chuckles softly behind him, no doubt reveling in the symphony of Lucilius falling apart in his hands.

“Aha… You _have_ changed somewhat,” Helel coos into his ear. “Your body’s become awfully lewd and sensitive, hasn’t it? It keeps sucking me back inside… It doesn’t want to let go… Oh, ha, you tightened up just now. Do you like it when someone tells you how insatiable you are?”

Lucilius whimpers, far too gone in the haze to respond with his usual ire.

“My dear Eve… My beautiful Lucilius…” Helel pivots his hips faster, harder, forcing Lucilius to choke on his moans. “...You’ve become a _whore._ ”

Lucilius tenses up, clenches unbearably tight around Helel’s cock.

Helel inhales shakily. “...Do you like being called that?” he asks, a wry smile spreading across his lips. “I never thought you could be so obscene…”

“Nnh…” Lucilius twitches, the heat in the pit of his stomach nearing its peak. He desperately rolls his hips back, over and over, chasing his climax in a frenzy.

“Oh? Already? I haven’t even touched you yet. My, you really are a whore.”

Whimpering, Lucilius impales himself faster on Helel’s cock, his distorted thoughts screaming in frustration. He wants to come, desperately so.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it—_

Helel purrs and buries his face into Lucilius’ hair. “Go on then. Come for me, my Eve, my Lucilius. And then I’ll fill you up with all of me, just like you’ve always wanted. I’ll ensure you’re never empty again.”

Those words—those crude, lustful words—somehow bring Lucilius to his undoing. With a loud cry, he reaches his peak, streaks of sticky white spurting from his untouched cock onto the linen. His body quivers erratically with the pulsing aftershocks, whimpers falling from his lips, and it takes all of his remaining strength to not fall into an undignified heap.

“Beautiful,” Helel breathes in awe. His praise belies his actions; he digs his nails into Lucilius’ waist and fucks him harder than before, wringing out little pathetic noises from him until, at long last, Helel comes with a final, hard thrust. He pumps Lucilius full, coating his insides with cum, leaving no spot untouched.

Lucilius twitches when Helel pulls out. Cold air hits his bare thighs, but it’s soon mitigated by the warmth leaking out of his hole. He bites his lip in disgust toward himself; he likes the sensation far more than he’d like to admit.

Carefully, Helel unwinds the ribbon from the cross and catches Lucilius in his arms. He gently lays him onto a clean portion of the linen and smiles. Lucilius meets the smile with a scowl.

There are a million things Lucilius would like to say right now, none of them kind, but for now he settles on a single question.

“Will I remember _this?_ ”

“You will not.”

Lucilius scoffs. He expected this much. He turns away from Helel, choosing to stare at the field of amaranth beyond the cathedral doors. “Then you’ve chosen to abandon me once more.”

“Unless you—”

“No. I will not repent.” Pushing Helel away, he sits up and adjusts his robes to cover his legs. “Not now. Not ever. Visit my dreams however many times you’d like; it won’t change anything.”

Helel gazes at him mournfully, but doesn’t protest. Instead, he takes Lucilius’ hand into his own, raises it to his lips, and kisses it softly.

Lucilius knows this won’t be the last time he surrenders to his desires.

“Until next time, my Lucilius.”


End file.
